


The Theed Cantina

by dearjenna



Series: The Theed Cantina [1]
Category: 1940s - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, friend insert - Fandom, star wars AU - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Coruscant, F/M, Friend-Insert, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars AU, Theed, Theed Cantina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearjenna/pseuds/dearjenna
Summary: (Star Wars AU, with character insert of my best friend Melody [to torture her].) Ben Kenobi is visiting Theed on a business trip when he meets the burlesque dancer Melody.





	The Theed Cantina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bossladyharley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossladyharley/gifts).



> Author's Note: (Also posted to my Fanfiction.) This is an AU Star Wars story set in the 1940s Massachusetts. The characters and places (other than the obvious American references) are all pulled from the Star Wars universe – whether it's original, prequel, extended or alternate. I've inserted the character "Melody," who is my best friend and loves Obi-Wan. This is meant as much of a joke as it's meant to entertain. I live to torment her. Anyway, enjoy.

The Nineteen-Forties. Hanging on to the last drip of debauchery as the Dirty Thirties had ended, the '40s were trying to revive itself following the Dust Bowl, Great Depression and avoiding a second World War. Unless you weren't pilfering in the slums and sewage of any convenient alleyway and ghetto, it was easy to give up hope then. Sure, there were a few things to look forward to, but with some of the finer highlights shrinking to just small wins in sports or congressional bills that mostly just benefited the military, it was unanimously felt as a finite time to be alive. Liberties were at the height of everyone's minds, however, and America was far from without any. Boasting was an American's prerogative.

May 2, 1941. Down the road from your friendly neighborhood pubs and over-employed factories was a small city named Theed that did its best to keep up with the cities growing taller around it. But what it lacked in industrial flare, it made up for in flavor. (Which wasn't easy when it sat right next door to Boston. But Theed was the capital of feathers and lace – always had been, always will be.) The one burlesque show still thriving in Theed was holding onto the breadth of sexual liberation and now-antiquated ideas of fashion that held together burlesque shows from the late-1800s to this point – even if that extensive history was looking closer to its end every day. The remaining club in Theed was named, simply, Theed Cantina. Most cities had abandoned the popular burlesque clubs for other trends, leaving some dancers' incomes in their wake. Theed was different, though.

Theed was the city many travelers escaped to – hid at – when they were on business in Boston or avoiding familial duties. The city was hardly the size of Boston. Of the approximate 270,000 recorded workers and laborers in Boston, it was staggering to see a city bordering it nearing only 100,000 residents at most. Theed's recorded laborers outside of Theed Cantina made their money as many in Massachusetts had at the time, though: by making things. It's a simple business; be the next inventor or innovator for  _The Boston Globe_  to dare to write about, and you could be sitting pretty. Or just spend your entire life grinding away in a factory and die from some sort of exposure. Your choice. With so many men attempting to do either, it was hard to make a living and feel good about it. Much as the men did staggering through pubs each night, avoiding the disappointment of a sub-par wife and ugly children to come home to, the burlesque show in Theed Cantina made life worth living – at least when the sun went down.

Theed Cantina was in a small hovel of a place – misleading to most by the disheveled outside and only one light-up sign that worked some of the time – the brick was cracking at the hinges of the door that let in every guest and curious seeker of dance. When the sign did light up in full, it was a red, tin sign with gold letters spelling out the words, "Cantina." Rounded, small bulbs lined the inside of each letter and lit up brightly at doors open. The inside of the club was as dazzling as one could make it. Red, large, draped curtains fell from the ceiling, lining every inch of the walls. The lighting was dim, even at the stage, but the white-frosted diffusers fitted over every bulb seemed to create an almost star-like reflection across every table, chair and curtain. The chairs and tables were hardly anything remarkable; most of the furniture was recycled from other defunct establishments, but they were all painted a deep cherry-oak brown. The stage was the only true mastery of the place. It was a cherry-oak wood with a red velvet carpeting where the performers stood. Often a microphone or stool sat center-stage. The red curtains in the back, that led to a mysterious backstage of dressing rooms and technical crew, had golden fringed tassels for a bit more color at the top. There was a single spotlight that stayed on the very center of the stage. A halo of light enveloped the feather-y, sequent-coated heaven-sent that stood underneath it, mesmerizing the husbands and hopeful industrials inside.

…

A pocket of white dust floated through the air by mirror number four. Backstage, the veil of lace and lust was lifted to reveal several smoking dancers, half-naked in front of their mirrors, cursing like sailors while the few tech-hands manning the lights and keeping the curtains drawn ran around like chickens with their heads cut off to make sure the show went on and on and on. Mirror number four was one of the more tenured performers of the Theed Cantina. Her name was Melody. No one knew her last name, no one dared to ask. Her pale skin, blue eyes and shiny brown hair made her the token brunette for the show. Many men were fonder of blondes and redheads ("I blame the media," Melody would sometimes scoff backstage, as they all read the latest reviews), but Melody had been the surviving brunette in the show. And for that reason a fan favorite for the regulars. She was shorter in stature than most performers, but what she lacked in height she made up for in confidence.

Melody's powdered nose was as powdered as she could make it in this lighting, so she made sure to touch up her ruby red lipstick once the dust settled. It was curtain time for the first girl, and Melody rolled her eyes as the perky, new blonde, Ann Gella, walked passed her to the stage. Many of the men had shortened the girl's name to Angel, and the blonde never corrected them to Melody's dismay. The song Ann always entered stage right to had a slow beat – one she could sway her hips to. A few men could be heard whistling and clicking their glasses against the hardwood of their tables. It was exhausting for the older performers to watch her. Not that Melody was old, but her time in the cantina had felt like a crawling, older part of her story.

Melody enjoyed burlesque; she felt freer there than she had working in a factory. But at 25 years old, she wanted to see more and do more. She was starting to wonder if her number was up here. Melody stood up and waved an exasperated arm through the cloud of tobacco smoke floating nearest her as she passed through to the other side of the room. Tann Gella, Ann's twin sister and the smoker, whined at Melody as she passed: " _Hey_ , don't wave that smoke around like you got a problem!" Tann's voice was nasal-y and  _very_ Massachusetts in that way that can only be described as rhotic New England. It made Melody cringe. She chose not to visually show her distaste and instead turned to say, "I don't have a problem, if you don't." Curt and nonchalant. Tann smiled sarcastically and took another puff of her cigarette that was placed firmly in her cigarette holder – the only fashionable thing the blonde owned. Melody was sure that was the only elongated thing not akin to a  _fornicating engine_  that had been in Tann's mouth recently. Tann's lips curled as she made a smoke ring that headed for Melody's face. The brunette let her eyes fall lazily on the smoke ring and slowly raised a middle finger in front of her face as if to invite the woman to "fuck off" without having to say so. She turned to head towards the rack of dresses and find one in her size and taste.

The underwear Melody had chosen for this night's performance took more time to take off, but was more flattering than what could be bought from a simple catalog in the '40s: a cream corset decorated in lace. It held her in and covered only the nipples of her breasts and her stomach. This corset also acted as a bit of a playful leotard, and straps ran from the bottom of the corset (near the top of her thighs) to the tops of her knee-high stockings which were sheer and a deep red. Melody planned on coordinating this undergarment with a revealing gown, she just couldn't choose which one. Most of the girls just coming into performing thought that burlesque meant they  _had_  to reveal everything either right away or before the end of the show. Melody had been in the business for 5 years and knew much different. It was about the tease, the temptation, the desire. Instead of walking out in just pasties and a sliver of fabric resembling the idea of panties, Melody chose to deny the men exactly what they wanted right away, sometimes at all.

"Ah," she said to herself, pleased. There, on a hanger, was the perfect dress. Its slip revealed exactly one leg with the rest of the skirt draped around her bottom half with a velvet-y texture that matched the rest of the stage. The top covered only exactly her corset, meaning it was strapless and to the shape of her bosom. The color fell as a gradient and waved as she walked like an ocean of blood from black to red. There was a red and black brooch with small matching feathers for her hair – which she curled into an updo that was easy to let down – and two large, red feathers to cover her entire body as she entered stage left. Melody considered a feather boa, but thought better of it. Tonight was about the glam, not how many birds she had plucked.

…

Solleu River flowed from a nearby lake to the Massachusetts Bay. The strongest of its current ran through the center of Theed. Tourists would often travel through just to gaze out with lovers and friends as the sun set. Sometimes day trips were made to have picnics in the park beside it. Hotels setup business nearby as a reason to draw in more tourists to the spot.

Ben Kenobi stood on a bridge that crossed the river, flipping a $4 golden Stella coin in the air. The lady engraved on the coin had a braided updo and the star on the back read, "ONE STELLA, 400 CENTS." By the '40s, not very many still lingered in currency rotation, so Ben kept his close for good luck – not that he really believed in such a thing. The sharply-dressed man had auburn hair and stood at 5'10" – a respectable height, some might say. His suit was gray and pleated. When buttoned at its center, it held closely to his fitted frame. It was his best suit. Ben often paired it with the matching slacks, a white, collared shirt and red striped tie. His shoes where a dark brown with pointed toe and professional shine. Unlike most men who fancied a hat to complete the ensemble, Ben never dared cover his hair. How would anyone see it?

For all intents and purposes, he was a handsome man. He had the luck of possessing a strong jaw, but softer than the Greek-inspired chisel, and well coifed hair with blue eyes. His smile had been known to cure any woman's loneliness, and he spoke with a deeper New England accent that frayed from the usual nasal or drawl of the north. It was educated and fine.

All that could be heard on the bridge, as Ben stood quietly, was the flicking of his thumb against the gold coin, the occasional whirr of wind against the metal as it flipped in the air, and the trickle of water as the river crashed against sides of the bank and carried on through Boston. Ben sighed, unwilling to make the trek back to Coruscant – a neighborhood in East Village of New York where Ben primarily worked. Jinn, his late mentor, had told Ben that the neighborhood was originally named by Icelandic immigrants some 60 years before. Who knew if that story was true. Ben had been under Jinn's mentorship for the last 20 years of his 35 years alive – this 20th year ending just a month before – so he knew if he didn't start to trust his words, he'd hardly survive. Jinn had helped Ben through every blight of the early 20th century; it was only fair he paid attention. Coruscant wasn't bad, it just wasn't interesting. Ben had seen and done everything (and everyone).

"There's hardly anything to do," he said out loud to himself. The sun started to set and almost disappeared below the horizon. Ben let his gaze wander as he shoved both hands into his pockets comfortably. He  _tsked_  and stepped forward, wondering if it was worth trying to find a car this late to make it back home or turnaround and walk to his hotel and sleep for another night. That's when he saw the light-up sign outside of Theed Cantina, a few letters missing but overall still enticing. Ben followed the road to the doors where a few men were lined up. The doors opened from the inside to let a few men in. A shadowy figure appeared to be checking identification. Ben knew a smile was enough to charm his way in and stopped wondering altogether. He stepped in line and waited his turn patiently, a coy smirk placed on his lips.

…

Melody found the one portion of the onstage curtain where she could peer out and not be seen. She made a slit just wide enough for one eye to spy on the crowd. Ann was just in heart-shaped pasties now with tassels that hung and swung as she danced around. Melody tried not to make an audible groan as she watched. When the pasties were pulled off and tossed into the crowd, Melody shut the curtain tight, annoyed and impressed at Ann's lack of candor onstage.

In burlesque, being naked didn't mean what it meant in the real world. It wasn't real or raw. What was real onstage was how a performer treated their audience. Ann treated them like dogs lapping at an erotic film, not men. Melody believed they deserved another approach, at least some of them. The clapping and hollering only got louder as Ann exited stage right. It was Melody's turn. She turned her look of abhorrence into a small smile – her sultry expression relying keenly on her cocked eyebrow. She held the large, red feathers in front of her whole body as she made her way to center-stage, blocking the view of most of her person. All that any man in the audience could see, with this technique, was from the bridge of her nose-up and the few wisps of her skirt as she walked slowly.

Melody knew immediately who the regulars were by the sound of their roar. Hidden in the back of the audience was one Ben Kenobi, whose gaze immediately went to the stage when he heard the others cheer. The performer came out to no music, but the feathers disguising her petite body built up the tension on its own. Ben found a spot nearest to the stage that he could and watched as the speckled lights of the diffuser and the center-stage spotlight danced off of the stage. He unbuttoned his coat button before settling into a full sit on the chair, relaxing his body. "Hello boys," the brunette said slowly. Whistles erupted from the crowd – most of them drunk.

A soft symbol could be heard chiming – it was Melody's music. It kept rhythm with a swing tempo. When the drums crashed alongside a blare of trumpet, Melody dropped her feathers to reveal her dress. Hoots and hollers erupted from the crowd as they took in their lady in red. Ben sat forward in his chair. His face didn't leave a trail of drool behind a numb tongue like the others. Instead, he looked more like a student carefully examining a specimen. He placed his elbow on his knee and propped his chin under a fist. Someone could have mistaken him for the Thinker had he sat still long enough. Was this what all Theed shows were like? He was sorry to admit he had been missing out until now. He leaned over to a nearby man who was throwing half of his drink on the floor in an attempt to drink it. "Is she here often?" Ben asked. The large man looked at him cross-eyed and laughed loudly.

"Boy, you must be new!"

"An answer to the question would be nice," Ben replied coolly with a smile.

"That's Melody," the man replied. "She's been here every night for the last…" The man paused and fiddled with his fingers. "Five years!" His laughter roared again. Ben looked back up to the stage, leaning forward, pressing his weight with his elbows on his knees. His hands were clasped firmly in front of him. He smirked.  _Melody…_

The performer was skilled, which hardly needed mention. She took her pointer finger and ran a soft line from her ankle all the way to the top of her thigh of her exposed leg. The men made more unintelligible noises, and Melody pushed her skirt off of the rest of her leg before running her fingers over the top of her bosom, playing with the fabric of the top of her dress. The drums continued to keep the upbeat tempo while the brass wailed. She bent over to reveal more cleavage, shimmied, then winked. Before anything could fall out, Melody turned quickly and began shaking her hips to the down-beat and secretly grabbed a string between her breasts as she did so. A loud slam of the drums and Melody jerked the string and the dress dropped to the floor.

Ben opened his mouth subtly and chuckled with high amusement. "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly. "Clever girl." When Melody turned to meet the crowd she surveyed the audience only to find a pair of blue eyes fixated on her – Ben's. He wasn't whistling, cheering or slurring with scotch. He was studying her. Melody smirked and tried not to let her gaze stick with the stranger for too long. She had to give the rest of the audience equal attention. Before too long they'll notice she's only paying attention to one. The corset leotard piece went over nicely, but Melody was sure it was the stockings that the men were more intrigued by. Her breasts sat nicely in the pointed cups, and she pulled her stockings off one-by-one. She picked up one of her large feathers and held it to her body. Her eyelashes fluttered as she feigned embarrassment. Ben gave a heartier chuckle and leaned back in his chair relaxing his stance to a more inviting position. Melody allowed her eyes to wander to his again and could have sworn she saw him wink at her. To mask her blush she pulled the feathers back up over her face before dropping the feather altogether to reveal both stockings gone and the straps that were holding them up. She now stood in just the corset.

With a shake of her head, she knocked her curls loose and her wavy hair fell to her shoulders. Melody allowed one more bend to reveal her cleavage, a humorous shimmy, then stood upright again and fluttered offstage quickly before the men could ask for more. The drums fell from their crescendo as she exited. A few jolly  _boos_  left the regulars' mouths – it was their game. Ben smirked and stood up, casually buttoning his coat back at the center button, and walked towards the bar as the next act prepared to take the stage. "Excuse me, Miss," he said to the woman refilling a beer. "Who is that Miss Melody we just saw?"

"I won't reveal that," the woman said in a teasing voice. She sounded like she hailed from the projects of New York City. "Confidential." She seemed to be attempting to flirt with Ben.

Despite his bemusement, he'd never miss a chance to flirt back for his own benefit and gave her a ravishing smile. "Is that so?"

"So."

"Hmm," he pondered. "Well how can I persuade you to share more?"

"You can't," she said. "Ain't no price."

"Shame," he replied. "I'd surely love to find out what your price is…"

The woman blushed but turned away to continue pouring drinks. "Ask me after the show," she mumbled.

…

Melody walked backstage again and attempted to do so calmly. On the nights she chose to hold back her adrenaline always spiked – sometimes it could be tough to find the right spot to humorously end on if you weren't going to show them anything. She managed to find it tonight, but it took a couple of years of getting it wrong before she made it. The girls who cared were clapping and giving Melody congratulations as the next one filed out for her performance. There were six more performances before the end of the night, so now was just a matter of holding on until closing. Then they could all divvy up the money and head home.

When it was lights out for Theed Cantina, the proprietor played a jazzy tune as he led everyone out. He was a gruff looking man who could easily play part in security if he wanted. Instead, he was dressed in tweed like the type of man who spends his entire time in the back office. Ben stood by the bar, back against the wood and one foot crossed over the other. He kept his gaze downward in an attempt to complete the ideal low-profile while he tossed his Stella coin in the air. The bartender from earlier came back out from the kitchen and stared at him. "Still here?"

"I don't give up," Ben replied.

"I see that," she said, clicking her tongue. "Alright, Melody will be out soon enough. If anyone asks you to leave, tell them you're with me. The name's Aaida."

"Pleasure," Ben said with a bright smile. "Ben."

Aaida walked away, blushing same as before, to finish cleaning the bar and kitchen. The dancers slowly filed out from backstage in their casual wear and overcoats fumbling with the cash and change they had just divided.

The head dancer – a woman who retired from performing and now coached and mothered all of the young women coming in and out of the club – walked briskly to Ben who was still looking downward at nothing. She didn't care for men who lingered when they should be leaving. She tapped him on the shoulder roughly, and Ben adjusted his shoulders to relieve the pain. He looked at her with a smirk. "Do we have a problem, Miss?"

"Who are you with?" she asked bluntly.

Ben's eyes narrowed. "Aaida." No need for charming here. Ben was wise enough to know it wouldn't work, anyway.

The woman looked him up and down slowly. "Hmm," she said. "You sure? Bitch like that hasn't seen a good man in some time."

"We're just friends, I assure you," Ben stated.

"Fine," the woman replied. "Keep sure of that."

Ben nodded and put his hands in his pockets to avoid nervously fidgeting with his coin. He wasn't sure exactly what made him so nervous about the older woman, but he could tell he didn't want to cross her. At least not in a public place like this again.

A shorter woman walked up to him slowly with a look of curiosity in her blue eyes. It was Melody. "Acina causing you trouble?"

Ben smirked, relieved a bit to see that she even approached him. Less work. "Not anything I haven't handled before," he replied. "She own the place her something?"

Melody shook her head. "She's something of a 'den mother' here."

"She do a lot of protecting?"

"Only when it involves men," she replied with a smirk.

Ben looked Melody up and down. The woman from before, dazzling in her undergarments, was wearing a beige trench coat with what appeared to be a blue skirt underneath, falling to her knees. Her beige heels only gave her enough height to bring her up to about 5'3". She seemed taller on stage, somehow. He figured it must be a trick of the light. "I wouldn't suppose you're looking for some devilish man to make her worry, are you?"

"That's a bit poignant, isn't it?" Melody pressed.

"Did I offend?"

"Hardly."

"Good," Ben said. "Then you might not mind me asking if you could join me for a stroll?"

Melody considered her options. Was it proper or decent? Probably not, but neither was her profession, sadly. "Sure," she said.

…

The moon was hanging high above Solleu River now. Its reflection much whiter and brighter than anything the club's lighting diffusers could match. They walked far over the bridge to the other side of Ben's hotel room, number 57. It was a short but silent walk. "Would you like to come up for a drink?" he asked with a smile. Ben held Melody's hand gently and rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. She quivered a bit, but tried not to show it.

"What do you have to drink?" she asked.

"All sorts," he replied.

Melody followed Ben into the room. He flicked on the light and revealed the suite to her. The whole room had high ceilings and one large window overlooking the river. There was a couch by a fireplace, a small dining table for room service's meals and a king-sized bed with sheets that looked like clouds. Melody let out an unintentional, soft gasp. Ben chuckled. "It's not much, but…"

"Please," Melody scoffed. "Don't even act coy."

Ben raised his hands in defense and laughed. "I'm sorry, you're right," he replied. "I should give you more credit."

She took off her coat and draped on a nearby coat hanger. "So about that drink?"

"Wine?"

"Sure," she said with a smirk. "Just nothing too dry."

Ben rifled through the complimentary alcohol cabinet. Melody watched him from the door as he was bent over, she studied the way his butt fit in his pants so neatly. Impressed, she decided to walk around the hotel room for a better look of everything. Eventually finding what he was looking for, Ben brought over two glasses and balanced the wine bottle under his arm. Melody extended her glass towards him in anticipation of the pour. As he did so, she made a noise as if she was hesitating to speak. Ben smirked and looked up at her, still bent to pour. "Yes?"

"What…" she began. "What do you do?"

His smirk turned into a smile as he finished pouring her wine. "Electrical engineer," he said.

"And what do you do as an electrical engineer?" Melody finally stopped looking around the room long enough to make eye contact with Ben as she sipped her wine. He took a sip as well, and placed his free hand on the small of her back. Melody felt a slight shiver.

He led her to the couch before explaining. "I work on androids," he said. "It's a brilliant idea, really. What I hope to do is make home service an automated thing. No longer will homemakers be alone to care for their homes. If we can somehow bring the service of robotics that we have now in heavy machinery to a home – in a smaller package – we could possibly revolutionize caretaking."

"Well," Melody said shortly. "That's interesting."

"You're not impressed?" Ben asked.

"Should I be?" Melody asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

Ben laughed. "Very funny. Of course you're impressed"

Ben moved closer to Melody, putting his glass down on the table in front of them. "You looked lovely tonight, you know?" She blushed. What was she to say? Was it too much to keep playing coy and sarcastic. Before she had time to decide, Ben's hand made it to her thigh. Melody involuntarily sucked in a breath. Ben's eyes grew lazier and his smile deeper. His thumb traced circles on her inner thigh, and she grabbed his hand firmly in place. Another hand found its way to the buttons of her blouse as he slowly undid each one before making his way to the collar of her shirt and pulled it down her shoulders letting the blouse fall onto the couch.

Ben let out a soft moan and said, "Let me give you a show, Miss."


End file.
